PIRATED
by L.E. Evers
Summary: In modern day England, Elizabeth Swann is the daughter of the Prime Minister. She is kidnapped on her 18th birthday, which is only the beginning of the wildest adventure of her life. Will/Elizabeth/Jack love triangle. Action, romance, drama, comedy.
1. Chapter 1

_(** DISCLAIMER:**__ I do not own the characters or anything related to the Pirates of the Caribbean franchise featured in this story. They are the property of Walt Disney Pictures and the Walt Disney Corporation. )_

A gloved hand forced itself tightly against the mouth of young Elizabeth Swann, muffling her screams and whimpers as another hand held her squirming body captive. She struggled violently to get free, but her tiny figure - as fierce as she may be in personality - was no match for the tall, muscular man carrying her away. Even if she had managed to break free from his grasp, she wouldn't have gotten very far, for there were two other men surrounding her. Although they were not as physically impressive as the one holding her hostage, there was no telling what they would or could have done to stop her. Their faces were concealed by black ski masks, their bodies in black attire, and they were hurriedly communicating to each other to move along.

Elizabeth caught sight of a dark van in which the two other men swung open the rear doors of and then hopped into quickly. In a flash, she was forcibly tossed into the back of the vehicle with them, and then the man of impressive stature followed in after her. It was then that her mouth was finally set free from the stranger's hand and she was able to scream at the top of her lungs, just as she lunged toward the door in an ambitious, desperate attempt to escape. The doors were closed and locked faster than she was able to reach them, though, and in what seemed like only a split second, the vehicle was on the move.

The large man grabbed her wrists and pushed her back down, while the shortest of the three did a rather surprising thing. He laughed. Evilly, sinisterly, he laughed. She could not see his face, but she could hear his cackle and see his shoulders and portly belly bounce. A tall, skinny man sitting beside him took his lead, now beginning to laugh as well. In a tone of sheer amusement, the stout kidnapper wickedly informed her, "You're not going anywhere, Poppet."

**ONE DAY EARLIER**

A polite knock upon the door awoke a sleeping Elizabeth Swann, who was soundly curled up in her canopy bed and surrounded by warm, white linens. She groaned at the sudden disruption, twisting her body and covering her face with her blankets, all in the hope that if she ignored the sound, it would go away.

But alas, her efforts were to no avail, for shortly after the disruptive knocks broke the peaceful silence of the girl's bedroom, the voice of the woman behind the door pleasantly reminded the young sleeper of why the ungodly time of day required her alertness and presence. "Good morning, Miss Swann," she spoke through the door, in a kind, though crisp and assertive tone. "Your father awaits you for breakfast in the dining room."

The sleepy, reluctant girl hiding beneath the covers moaned like a child as she peaked out from her hiding place and glanced over at the clock beside her bed. 6:00 AM, it read. Or as she saw it, "too fucking early". She made a disgusted noise at the time of day in which she was expected to rise and rushed to crawl back underneath the warmth and solitude of her covers, this time sliding herself almost to the center of her bed, as though getting as far away from the edge of her blankets would make it harder for the day to find her.

As she was soon reminded, though, there was no escaping Estrella, her devoted housekeeper and responsibility reminder extraordinaire. "Miss Swann," she repeated, though this time with a certain firmness that warned the sleeping beauty of her last chance to make a peaceful rise before a second, much less pleasant phase of action would be taken.

From beneath the covers came a quick, though thoroughly displeased, "Alright then!"

Elizabeth arrived promptly in the dining room at 6:30 AM, appearing far more alert and refreshed than she had half an hour prior. She had traded her bed head in for a simple, though elegant updo, which she had become a master at over the years of being a political figure's daughter; one was always expected to look presentable and refined. Her pajamas were replaced by a white pencil skirt, light pink top, and modest white sandals. As soon as she set foot into the brightly sunlit room, something caught her off guard and she stood frozen in the doorway.

Her father, Weatherby Swann, looked up at her and instantly sent her a cheerful smile as he greeted her, standing up. "Oh, there you are. Good morning, Elizabeth!" He proved to be completely oblivious to his daughter's rigidity, for he continued on with his joyous attitude. "I'm glad you could join us."

By 'us,' he meant himself and a certain well-dressed James Norrington, who had also risen to his feet and was gazing at the lovely young woman standing before them.

His admiring stare was making her more uncomfortable by the second and it took every bit of her willpower to be courteous and relax herself. "Good morning, Father," she replied politely, before looking to his guest. She took a pause before finally saying with a smile, "Good morning, Mr. Norrington."

His eyes were sparkling as they looked at her and he easily returned the smile. "Good morning, Elizabeth. It's a pleasure to see you, as always," he told her smoothly, with genuine warmth and kindness. While he spoke in a friendly manner, his eyes expressed a desire for something far more profound than the restricted association they were obligated to respect. Although he was not outwardly open about his feelings for her, his eyes gave it all away as soon as they landed upon her.

She nodded softly with a gracious smile. Her eyes did not express the same. "What brings you here so early?"

"A business matter, nothing too serious."

"Ah, of course."

"Yes," Weatherby intersected, "it's a pity that we don't come together for much else lately. Not much time for it, with our schedules as they are." There was a hint of regret in his voice, but he was quick to cover it. "But, that's the price of being the Prime Minister and Home Secretary. Someone has to do it and I'm proud to say we are the men with the honor." He looked to James with a satisfied smile, suddenly standing a little taller with his shoulders pushed back. He was quite the politician. He'd even fooled himself.

"Indeed," James agreed, though it was to be wondered if the sentiment was also whole-hearted or not. Elizabeth had simply lowered her eyes to the floor, not to shed a word.

There was an awkward silence that filled the room, with all parties distracting their eyes from one another. Weatherby finally broke the silence, spiritedly proposing, "Well, James, why don't you join us for breakfast?"

Both Elizabeth and James first looked to the man at the head of the table, but then her eyes quickly crossed to the recipient of the proposal, tense with anticipation of his answer. "I wish I could, but I'm afraid I have some business to tend to."

Weatherby was visibly disappointed as he replied, "Well, perhaps sometimes soon, then. I'll make certain to have my secretary schedule something."

Elizabeth was visibly _relieved_, but thankfully she was able to regain her composure quickly enough so to not rudely give away her true feelings over the matter.

"Thank you for the invitation. I must be going now, though." He turned to Weatherby, who extended his hand to the young man. They cordially engaged in a handshake, but before they could part, the older gentleman affectionately placed his other hand on the forearm of his guest. They exchanged warm-hearted smiles that displayed a relationship that went deeper than the typical one of colleagueship they had maintained on the surface.

"Good day, James."

He nodded, squeezing his father-figure's hand before finally breaking the connection. He walked around the table and approached Elizabeth, stopping at her side. "Have a nice day, Elizabeth," he told her as he gazed down at her, his words expressing some regret to be wishing her goodbye so soon.

"You too," she said simply. She glanced up at him, but connecting to the intensity in his eyes made her too uncomfortable, so she promptly tore them away. Instead, she covered her uneasiness with a smile and looked to her father.

As soon as James left the room, Elizabeth released a small sigh of relief and leaned the side of her body against the doorframe.

"Such a shame," Weatherby noted. "I hardly ever get to see that boy anymore. Or man, I should say. He's grown into quite the honorable young man." He looked to Elizabeth, before motioning for her to take a seat. "Please, join me."

She took a seat at the table as he notified a female staff member to serve them breakfast. "You know, Elizabeth, I've always believed that you and James would make a fitting couple."

The relief she had found vanished in a quick second, along with her appetite. "Father," she pleaded softly.

"He is everything a father could hope for his daughter to find in a suitor. He is a gentleman, respected, intelligent, stable. He's a good man. I've known him since he was an infant, and the type of household he was raised in."

"He's nearly ten years older than me!"

"Right, so he is mature. He can take care of you."

"I don't _need_ to be _taken_ _care_ _of_," she insisted firmly.

He ignored her, continuing, "I saw the connection between you two just now. You would work splendidly together."

Her eyes widened at his unbelievably clueless comment, actually leaving her speechless as she wondered what alternate world her father was living in. Luckily, their food arrived and her father was distracted, so the subject was effortlessly dropped.

They discussed general topics as they dined and towards the end of their meal, Weatherby's assistant stepped in to alert him of some business that needed his attention. He excused himself from breakfast with Elizabeth, apologizing to her with a kiss on her forehead before moving on. She was left thinking that he was not only too busy to spend time with the man he thought of like a son; he was too busy to finish breakfast with his actual daughter.

Elizabeth was making her way through her home at 10 Downing Street after breakfast. Her eyes fell to the floor as she thought of what the morning had dealt her so far and she couldn't help the frown that assumed her lips. Suddenly, her thoughts were abruptly halted as she collided with an unknown force as she rounded a corner.

Someone's hand slid around her waist, steadying her so that she was not to fall. As soon as she looked up, her face softened, and balance – as well everything else, for that matter – became unimportant to her.

"Are you alright, Ms. Swann?" the residence's young handyman, William Turner, questioned her with genuine concern. His deep brown eyes reflected the same sentiment, looking at her with intense worry and guilt.

"Please, as I've told you before… call me Elizabeth. I'm fine," she said quietly, her eyes fixated on his. "Are you?"

"Not a scratch," he said easily, the hint of a smile tickling the corner of his mouth. "I'm so sorry, I should've been more careful of where I was going."

"It appears that neither of us knows how to walk properly." Her jovial attitude lightened the mood immediately and they exchanged nothing but smiles in the following moments of silence. The scent of his aftershave brought her an odd sense of comfort, as did the feeling of his arm still wrapped around her waist, holding her close. Her eyes ventured away from his face toward his body, where she took notice of his tanned skin along his sternum exposed by the white wifebeater he was wearing. She averted her eyes before it became awkward, and he unfortunately did the same with his arm, straightening up.

"Well, I should get back to work…" he told her, though with much reluctance. He didn't make a move to leave.

She nodded solemnly, an uncontrollable look of disappointment filling her large, hazel eyes. "I suppose you should."

The same feeling showed in his, but he went to move past her. She, however, stopped him before he could finish making a complete step. "Will," she said, and he looked at her. "Are you coming to my party? For my birthday, tomorrow."

He shook his head, "I didn't know I was invited."

"You're always welcome where I am." Her words were candid, yet so truthful, and her gaze supported their claim. Their moment was unfortunately disrupted by another staff member, who walked in and began conducting some business nearby.

Will instinctively took a long step back, furthering the distance between he and Elizabeth so not to imply something indecent between the two of them. Although their relationship had not reached that stage yet, it was clear that it was dancing on the edge. He cleared his throat before politely sending her his parting words, "Good day, Ms. Swann."

She watched him as he walked away, and a look of determination pierced her expression. With that, she left the room on a mission.

Later in the day, a tired Will finished his duties at the Prime Minister's residence and traveled toward the front door to leave. Just as he was reaching it, a familiar voice called out from behind, causing him to turn around.

"Will!" exclaimed Elizabeth, running in his direction so as to catch up with him. As she approached him, she handed him an elegant white envelope, just as her father was entering the room. "I hope you'll be there tomorrow," she spoke earnestly, her eyes full of hope.

He had to control the smile that crept along his features, which wished to be a large grin. As he gently took the envelope, he simply told her, "It would be an honor," as they were in mixed company.

Her eyes lingered on him as he walked away from her once again, though this time she wore a hopeful smile. Her father interrupted her thoughts of the handsome young handyman, and she turned around to face him.

"Elizabeth, what was that you just gave Mr. Turner?" he questioned curiously.

"I invited him to my party tomorrow."

"You did what? Why would you invite our handyman to your birthday party?"

"He's worked for our family since I was nine," she argued defensively. "He's a good man. Why shouldn't he be invited?"

"It isn't necessary for you to pity the employed help. They are here to do their job, not to socialize."

Elizabeth became incensed by this remark, looking at him in utter disbelief. "I invited him there because I _want_ him there," she stated firmly. "It's my party; I should be allowed to invite whom I please."

Weatherby was caught completely off guard by her reaction and was unsure of how to respond. Before he could sort this out, she left the room, leaving him to soak in his confusion.


	2. Chapter 2

On the night of Elizabeth's 18th birthday party, hundreds of people gathered in an extravagant ballroom in London. Dressed in their best formal attire and adorned in the finest jewelry, they all mingled with drinks in their hands to the music of a sophisticated live band. Word around the country was that it was "the party of the year"; anybody who was anybody was on that golden guest list.

Elizabeth, the guest of honor, arrived later than everyone else, so that she could make her "grand entrance". This was not her idea, however. She strongly protested against this every year, but her father insisted that she deserved to have all eyes on her and for people to respect and honor her presence. This, to her, seemed awfully vainglorious and haughty, of which she happened to be neither. In fact, although she was confident, she did not consider herself as anything more than just another 18-year-old girl.

"I'm queasy," she told Estrella, who was making sure Elizabeth's hair, make-up and dress were flawless before she finally joined her party. They had been left alone in a small room upstairs, so that she could make any last minute preparations.

"It'll be over in a flash, darling. Most of them are too caught up in themselves to pay any mind to you, anyway. They all think _they _are the guest of honor." The woman flashed a smirk, winking as Elizabeth quietly giggled at her bold, yet all too truthful remark. Estrella had worked for the family for years, particularly taking care of Elizabeth after her mother's death when she was just a child. She became her only true confidant and the one person who would speak honestly with her, in spite of her obligations as part of Weatherby's staff.

"Alright, now go, you," she whispered to Elizabeth, patting her on the back as she guided her toward the door.

As soon as she was out the door, she stopped to take a deep breath. Feeling as ready as she was ever going to, she notified the announcer and then waited as he gathered the crowd's attention. The chattering of the impressive crowd came to a stop as they all turned their gaze to the grand staircase. They began to applaud as the music became an honorary medley just for the guest of honor and she gracefully descended the massive flight of steps.

Her expression was flat, which was a step up from the look of misery she felt like assuming. That was, until her eyes landed upon Will, who was standing amongst the crowd, admiring her from afar. Her lips curled into a smile; reaching the bottom of the stairs suddenly became a much more desirable ambition.

She worked her way through the crowd, graciously greeting people she either didn't know or had only met briefly on special occasions. Although they slowed her down, she made certain to direct her path toward the only guest she truly cared to see. As she was finally about to approach him, however, yet another obstacle came in her way.

"You look lovely tonight, Elizabeth," James told her as he stepped in front of her, not realizing she had a particular destination in which he was impeding.

"Oh, thank you…" she replied, caught off guard by his sudden appearance.

"Would you care to dance?"

She wanted to tell him '_no_', her heart and her dance partnership belonged to the handyman in the corner. But unfortunately, she was too kind and decent to disrespectfully turn away a good man to go socialize with another. She glanced past James's shoulder at Will, who was watching her patiently. With much reluctance, she brought her gaze back to the man in front of her and nodded her head in accord. "Sure."

He gently took her hand and led her to the center of the dance floor, where they began to slow dance amongst the other guests. "You look beautiful," he told her, admiration for her shining in his eyes.

"Thank you."

After a few moments of silence between them, he spoke again. "You know, Elizabeth… We've known each other for quite some time. And I feel I should be honest with you…" He paused, somewhat nervously. "I've always felt drawn to you."

She averted her eyes quickly as she felt her body grow tense, suddenly wishing that she had just been rude and turned him down. He continued on, but she didn't hear his words. Instead, she was contemplating how she would get out of this. Formalities, be damned. Before he could get very far, she interrupted him. "Would you excuse me? I need to go to the powder room."

Her abrupt interruption caught him off balance and he stumbled slightly before replying, "Uh, sure. Of course..."

She swiftly parted from him and began to hurry her way through the crowd, avoiding eye contact with those she passed. She needed to have a moment alone, pull herself together, and sort out how she would effectively handle this awkward situation. When she made it to the quiet ladies room, she stopped at one of the sinks and turned on the water, running her hands under it quickly. She flicked her fingers a bit before bringing them to her neck, sighing deeply at the refreshing feeling as she tipped her head back. Finally, she was feeling calmness come over her.

And then the lights went out. She brought her head up instantly. The large room was now only dimly lit by some candles set about. She turned to her left and the sight of some blood on one the faucet handles caught her attention. Confused, she looked back into the mirror hanging above her sink. She felt the air catch in her throat. A tall, black figure was looming behind her. Before she could find the strength to scream, he grabbed her.

The man dragged her out of the bathroom, down a long corridor. She could hear screams and shatters coming from the ballroom nearby. He took her in the opposite direction, winding through darkness until he finally reached a door. He kicked it twice and then someone opened it from the outside.

They were now in an alley way. A gloved hand forced itself tightly against the mouth of young Elizabeth Swann, muffling her screams and whimpers as another hand held her squirming body captive. She struggled violently to get free, but her tiny figure - as fierce as she may be in personality - was no match for the tall, muscular man carrying her away. Even if she had managed to break free from his grasp, she wouldn't have gotten very far, for there were two other men surrounding her. Although they were not as physically impressive as the one holding her hostage, there was no telling what they would or could have done to stop her. Their faces were concealed by black ski masks, their bodies in black attire, and they were hurriedly communicating to each other to move along.

Elizabeth caught sight of a dark van in which the two other men swung open the rear doors of and then hopped into quickly. In a flash, she was forcibly tossed into the back of the vehicle with them, and then the man of impressive stature followed in after her. It was then that her mouth was finally set free from the stranger's hand and she was able to scream at the top of her lungs, just as she lunged toward the door in an ambitious, desperate attempt to escape. The doors were closed and locked faster than she was able to reach them, though, and in what seemed like only a split second, the vehicle was on the move.

The large man grabbed her wrists and pushed her back down, while the shortest of the three did a rather surprising thing. He laughed. Evilly, sinisterly, he laughed. She could not see his face, but she could hear his cackle and see his shoulders and portly belly bounce. A tall, skinny man sitting beside him took his lead, now beginning to laugh as well. In a tone of sheer amusement, the stout kidnapper wickedly informed her, "You're not going anywhere, Poppet."

Back inside the ballroom, chaos was ensuing in utter darkness. Shrieks, cries, crashing, shattering, bodies hitting the floor – all echoed within the grand ballroom. While many of the guards were present in the room, they were completely disoriented by the darkness as everyone else was, rendering them virtually helpless.

Will reached into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out a lighter, which he quickly flipped open. Although it did not offer much light in such a grand space, he hoped that it would at least help lead him toward the lounge where he knew Elizabeth had gone to. Suddenly, an arm went around his neck. The lighter flew out of his hand and he instinctively grabbed a hold of the arms attempting to choke him. Realizing this action was ineffective, he elbowed the guy in the gut, instantly allowing his release. Will then dropped to the ground, searching for the lighter.

As his hand was eagerly shuffling along the floor, the man grabbed his wrist, pulling him up and then throwing a punch into his jaw. Will hit the ground hard, but as he landed, he felt something against his back. He reached his hand under his body and felt the lighter between his fingers. He wouldn't make the same mistake of turning it on again, knowing the enemy was still there, but because he could not even see the hand in front of his face, attempting to retaliate on the invisible figure would be challenging. He quickly reached out, hoping to catch the man before he had the chance to move. Will found the man's leg, so he pulled it out from under him, causing the man to fall to the ground. He then tackled him and took a blind, though very forceful swing, catching the man's nose. The stranger's hands went to his throbbing and most likely broken nose as he moaned in pain.

He found the man's gun on his hip and placed it under the waistline of his own pants. Then, he opened his lighter and held it over the man's face. A sleeve of the criminal's black shirt had slipped down a few inches toward his forearm as he was holding his nose, and Will noticed a peculiar tattoo on his wrist. Furrowing his brows, he studied it, attempting to decipher what it was. And then, he took a blow to the back of the head.


	3. Chapter 3

Blue skies surrounded a confident Jack Sparrow as the wind swept across his weathered face. His fingers, adorned in a variety of interesting rings, were gripping the set of handlebars before him as he rode smoothly along a street. He appeared strong, carefree, fearless. He sported a mustache and a goatee, and his brown locks were short, though carelessly disheveled. Black aviators covered his eyes, while a black, button-down shirt exposed much of his chest, as well as the two eclectic necklaces he wore. He seemed to have quite the affinity for interesting pieces of jewelry, as he also wore several different bracelets around his wrists.

He was driving along contently until the irritating sound of a car horn suddenly disrupted what were his pleasant daydreams. He ignored it at first, but the sound persisted, so he looked into his right rearview mirror to check out the source of this disturbance. The man behind him, seeming to be quite aggravated, hung his head out the window of his truck as he followed closely behind Jack.

"Get a move on it, would you! You're holding up all the bloody traffic!" the man shouted. Jack was going a whopping speed of about 20 miles per hour on a semi-busy road, which consisted of only one lane for the direction in which he was traveling. As it turned out, his blue Vespamotor scooter only went so fast when nearly out of gas.

"Sorry mate, 'fraid this is fast as I can go 'till I fill 'er back up," he yelled out in reply, turning his head to look at the man behind him. This, however, turned out not to be the best of ideas, as he almost swerved off the road. "As much as I'd love to chat, this isn't quite the opportune time, as a conversation may result in the very _in_opportune death of either myself or the both of us. So you'll just have to sit tight back there and take this as an opportunity to smell the lilies. Or daffodils. Roses." He made a bemused face, still not quite sure if he had the popular phrase correct or not. "Whatever, just enjoy the ride, mate."

A collection of colorful curse words were sent in his direction by the angry driver behind him, but Jack took it all in stride, choosing to ignore him. He continued to cruise along, almost pretending as though the beeping horns following him were his own personal parade. Even on a small, yellow Vespa going twenty miles per hour, he rode with a sense of dignity and pride.

A gas station finally appeared in the distance after he traveled about another mile. When Jack slowed his vehicle and turned into the station, the drivers following closely behind him collectively cheered. He saluted them as they passed by, and many of them returned the gesture with their middle fingers. "Your hospitality is inspiring," he commented sarcastically, before proceeding to the nearest available pump. He removed his sunglasses and as he was about to begin the task, something caught his attention hanging on a wall nearby. A rather decent-sized poster read, "WANTED: JACK SPARROW," and below it was his mugshot. His eyes widened as he muttered the words, "Oh bugger."

The next set of events seemed to happen in the blink of a very concerned eye. Just as a cop was pulling into the parking lot, another patron pumping his gas noticed Jack and his likeliness to the photo in the sign. "Hey, you look like that man… Jack Sparrow," he remarked.

Jack was quick to shake his head as he looked away. "No offense, but I fear you might be rather blind, mate. That looks nothing like me. I'm much better looking." He grinned, attempting to lighten the mood and distract the man's attention away from the fact that he was, most definitely, speaking to the criminal in the sign. This effort was, unfortunately for Jack, to absolutely no prevail.

"Yeah, yeah. You're him! You're Jack Sparrow!" He turned his attention to the cop, who was just exiting his vehicle. "Hey, Officer! That's Jack Sparrow! The wanted man in that sign just over there!"

Jack cringed at every excited word that came out of the man's mouth. The officer caught on quickly and began moving in their direction, yelling out to Jack to put his hands over his head and not move another muscle. He began to do as he was told, but then suddenly bolted in the opposite direction.

He made a beeline to the back of the building as the officer furiously called out to him to stop, running after him as fast as he was capable. Jack had done a lot of motivated running in his lifetime, though, that he gave the man an impressive chase. Although the cop pulled out his gun, he was unable to get a clear shot of Jack, who was deliberately making it difficult. Only a man with experience knew such a vast assortment of tricks as he was pulling.

He winded in and out of sidewalks and alleyways, jumping over, around, and between anything that came in his way. He quickly arranged some minor obstacles, hoping to slow his pursuer. It only gained him a little extra distance, but it was just enough for him to slip into a random door at the far end of a deserted alley. The cop was just rounding the corner as the door was about to close, but his attention caught it quickly enough to know where the wanted man had escaped to.

Jack took a few steps into the mysterious building, where he was met by a dark curtain. When he parted it and walked in, he found himself in a small, crowded room which was filled with the admixture of several seperate conversations. The colors were vibrant and the space was cluttered with sparkly costumes, makeup and hair products. What caught his attention first, however, was a woman sitting to his left in a satin robe. Her hair and face were done up dramatically, just like one would expect a showgirl's to be. She took notice of him out of the corner of her eye and turned to look at him. He was instantly prepared to defend himself, make up some sort of lie right on the spot as to why he was in a ladies dressing room. But instead of her yelling or throwing a shoe, her bold red lips curled into a smirk as she sent him a wink.

He was intrigued, raising an eyebrow as she scanned him from head to toe. Maybe this wouldn't be such a bad day after all. At least he would get laid by a hot showgirl. Perhaps she would even turn out to be a stripper and give him a free lap dance!

As the possibilities were rolling around in his head, someone bumped his shoulder and in the rough voice of a man came the words, "'Scuse me, chap."

Jack nodded. "No problem, mate," he replied. He looked to his right where the man's voice had come from, but he about jumped out of his skin at what he saw. It was a tall _woman_, completely done up in extravagant makeup with an incredible updo to match. The woman smiled at him and then proceeded further into the dressing room. Jack's eyes followed her, but his bewilderment only intensified as he looked around the room.

There was another woman standing before a mirror, though she had a crew cut and was just bringing a long, blonde wig to her head. He then noticed another one, who was shaving her very _flat_ chest, complete with pectoral muscles that were peaking out from the opening of her robe. His eyes finally bounced back to the one he had initially flirted with and she was just standing up from her chair. She untied her robe and slipped it off, revealing what Jack had been so curious and excited to see only moments before. However; what he had imagined and what he actually saw turned out to be two _very _different things.

It took Jack a moment to realize what he was seeing, as it caught him so off guard. The woman he had silently flirted with was, in fact, not a woman at all. _He _was wearing nothing but a thong, leaving absolutely _nothing_ to the imagination – quite unfortunately for Jack.

Apparently, Jack had landed himself in the dressing room of a drag club.

Jack hurriedly turned around to make a quick escape, but while he was frantically trying to find where the curtain parted, he heard the door from the alley open. He stopped immediately, realizing that it could be the officer who was after him. In a moment of desperation, he turned around and searched for a place to either run or hide. Time was of the essence, so he had to think fast.

A few moments later, the officer began searching for the parting of the curtains and finally burst into the dressing room after a tedious struggle. His eyes, just like Jack's, landed on the person nearest the curtain, to the left. The drag queen had gotten his costume on since Jack saw him half-naked, so the officer was left thinking he was looking at a woman. He then scanned the rest of the room and saw nothing but (what he thought were) women. Blushing, he held his hands up innocently and said, "My apologies, ladies. I'm looking for a man."

"You've come to the right place," the one to his left replied.

The officer was visibly confused by the strange comment and baritone that came from the elaborately dressed lady, but he chose not to question it. As far as he was concerned, some women just had unappealing voices.

Another one chimed in, "I saw a man in a black shirt rush through to the club."

The officer quickly turned his attention to this other showgirl and anxiously asked, "Which way would that be?"

She pointed to the door at the opposite side of the dressing room. "Thank you, miss!" the officer said to her as he rushed across the dressing room.

As soon as he was gone, the same drag queen smiled smugly as she looked to the person at her right, who was wearing a long robe and a feminine red wig. They were holding a pink fan over their mouth as they sat at one of the vanities. From behind the fan came a whisper. "Is he gone?" Receiving an affirmative nod, Jack hastily folded the fan and stood up. He then removed the long, satin robe he had thrown on to cover his clothing and handed it to the drag queen beside him. "You've my endless gratitude, love. Gotta run." He spun around to leave, but the drag queen cleared her throat to catch Jack's attention. He turned back around and after a moment of thought, he realized what he had forgotten. He smiled innocently as he lifted the long, feminine wig from his head and handed that back, as well. Somewhat embarrassed, he muttered nervously, "Sorry. Just so… comfortable. Warm." He smiled awkwardly, and then swiftly spun around on his heels, escaping toward the curtain.

"Call me!" his helper called out to him.

"You bet!" Jack lied shamelessly, just before he disappeared through the curtain.

In the midst of the afternoon, a disheveled Will Turner sat at the bar of an old, dark pub. The night before, he had endured one of the worst experiences of his life. Upon waking up after being knocked unconscious by a stranger, he found himself with a throbbing headache in the middle of a trashed, though brightly lit ballroom. Paramedics and members of security were all around him, medically tending to some guests and questioning others. He quickly received medical attention, but in spite of the paramedic's advisement to take it easy, he sought out somebody he recognized, finally stumbling upon James Norrington, who was heading the investigation. However; he was met with a very preoccupied man, who was uninterested in Will's presence, let alone anything he had to say. He dismissed him and any mention of a tattoo, declaring that the English security service and police force had it under control and did not require the assistance of a twenty-one year-old handyman.

Will left the ballroom in the middle of the night feeling degraded and frustrated. Whether the Home Secretary cared or not, he was damn sure that he was going to help Elizabeth. He wasn't quite sure how yet, but he knew that he couldn't just sit around while she was out there, petrified in the hands of God knows who. So there he was the next day, at a pub, engaging in conversation with whoever he could find. He showed to each of them a napkin with a drawing on it of the tattoo he had seen. The tattoo on the stranger's wrist was a symbol, though it wasn't something that one saw everyday. He hoped that maybe someone would recognize it and lead him toward the man he had encountered.

As he was showing the napkin to a man nearby, Jack Sparrow stumbled in through the front door. Apparently, he hadn't stopped moving since he left the drag club and had become a quite winded. He made his way up to the bar and took the closest available seat. "Rum," he told the bartender. "Leave the bottle." He would need it after the afternoon he'd had so far.

As soon as the first glass was placed in front of him, Jack downed the entire thing. The bartender looked at him with a smirk and commented, "Rough day, ay?"

Jack placed the empty glass down on the bar and shot the bartender a 'you have no idea' look. "Peachy."

As Jack was receiving his second round, Will filled the empty stool next to him and slid the napkin in front of the unsuspecting patron. "Excuse me, sir. Have you seen this before?"

Jack was no in mood to be pestered and was quite annoyed by the fact that someone was attempting to. He was ready to assert the intruder's wrongdoing of interrupting a troubled man with the desire to get drunk in peace, but as he looked down at the napkin to slide it back to Will, the drawing caught his attention. His eyebrows jumped in surprise and he almost swallowed the air in his lungs. However; in spite of his strong reaction, he quickly slid it back and said, "Nope, never seen it," and avoided all eye contact as he took a long swig of his drink.

Will narrowed his eyes as he looked at Jack suspiciously. "Are you sure?"

"Yep. Absolutely positively unequivocally sure. Never seen it."

He raised an eyebrow. "I think you have," he stated decisively.

Jack frowned and rolled his eyes in annoyance. "Why don't you run along home and play with your action figures? Mummy's probably worried sick."

Will's annoyance was growing rapidly, as well. He glared at the stubborn man and firmly pushed the napkin back in front of him. "This was on the wrist of one of the men who invaded Elizabeth Swann's birthday party last night." He paused, watching Jack's reaction closely as his eyes shifted upon hearing this news. "I believe that if I find the man who has this tattoo, I will be closer to finding Elizabeth. The Prime Minister's daughter, in case may have forgotten."

Jack felt uneasy, but he made quick work to conceal it as he replied smoothly, "Look, mate, I don't know where your girl is. I'm just trying to have a drink in peace. So if you could go play Sherlock Holmes elsewhere, we'd all be better off. Savvy?"

Will didn't budge. He knew there was something Jack wasn't telling him, so push would have to come to shove. "What do you want?" he asked.

"Didn't I just go over this with you?"

"Do you want money? I'll get you whatever you want in exchange for the information I need. The information I _know_ you have." He glared at him, his frustration building. "A young woman is in danger. There's no telling what they'll do to her to get what they want."

Jack raised a brow slightly, his interest suddenly piqued. After a few moments of thought, he finally brought his eyes to Will for the first time and asked, "You wouldn't happen to have a car, would you?"


End file.
